See You in Health
by Berry's Ambitions
Summary: Co-written with GhostlyMayhem. Putting up with the the Ghostly Trio's antics is far from easy, but Kat Harvey has managed it for the past four years - until fate finds her playing nurse for their ailing leader. But the only thing more frightening than a sick Stretch is the fact he might have more in common with Kat than what she originally thought... [Stretch/Kat]
1. Diagnosis

_**See You in Health**_

_**By Berry's Ambitions and GhostlyMayhem**_

**A/N: I now present my first multi-chaptered _Casper_ story, written alongside my best friend! :D We both love the Stretch/Kat pairing and just had to give them a longer piece. It started off as a simple one-shot and then evolved into... whatever this is. XD More will be revealed as the story progresses! Until then, I hope you guys like it!**

**DISCLAIMER: We do not own _Casper_****_._**

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Diagnosis**_

* * *

**Sunday, June 27th, 1999**

"Uncle Stretch? Sorry, I haven't seen him."

Kat let out a weary sigh, crossing her arms. She'd been searching for the elusive phantom since first getting out of bed in the morning, certain he was the culprit behind her missing Red Hot Chili Peppers cassette. Everyone else was finishing up breakfast, and not a single person - living or dead - seemed to have a clue where to find him.

"Thanks anyway, Casper." Kat turned to her father, blatantly ignoring the obnoxious chewing noises that Stinkie and Fatso emitted in the background. "When was the last time you saw him, Dad?"

James Harvey rubbed his chin, mulling it over. "I wouldn't know, Bucket. I went to bed just as he and his brothers were leaving for a night out." He looked across the table expectantly.

Stinkie let out a loud burp, much to the disgust of the rest of his makeshift family (aside from Fatso, who merely laughed), and leaned back in his chair. "I dunno," he shrugged. "Last time I checked he was still in bed. Figured he was sleepin'."

"Since when does Stretch sleep in?" Kat wondered aloud, furrowing her brow.

"If you're so worried," Fatso butted in, tossing a plate on the ground and subsequently shattering it, "why don't _you_ go see how he's doin'?"

Stinkie cackled in agreement. "Yeah! I'm sure Stretchy would love that!"

Before Kat could think up a snarky retort, a small, cold hand touched hers. She looked down to see Casper gazing at her apprehensively.

"I wouldn't," the youngest ghost warned. "Uncle Stretch gets awfully cranky when you interrupt his naptime."

Kat stood up anyway. "But this isn't like him. If he's up to something, I want to find out what it is." Despite a small utter of protest from both Casper and her father, Kat left the kitchen.

* * *

When she neared the Ghostly Trio's room, already Kat could hear moaning sounds. Moans of pain, loud and unpleasant to listen to. Baffled, she stood outside the bedroom door, listening as closely as possible to see if any other sound would erupt.

And erupt it did. Only fifteen seconds later did the sound of gagging meet her ears, followed by something splattering all over the floor.

Alarm bells rang in her head immediately. In all her four years living in Whipstaff Manor, never had she witnessed a ghost doing _that._ Not even pausing to knock beforehand, Kat wrenched the door open and hurried over to Stretch's bed, bracing herself for the worst.

If he was aware of her presence, then he didn't show it. The lanky poltergeist were curled in a fetal position, shivering atop his blankets and clutching his stomach. His head was turned away from her, facing the wall.

Kat had the right mind to call her father; he was the ghost expert, after all. Instead, she cleared her throat, trying to remain calm. "Stretch?" she said quietly. "It's Kat."

He let out a low groan in response, followed by unintelligible mumbling. She hesitated for a moment before reaching out and touching his back. Rather the expected chill, Kat was greeted by an unfamiliar lukewarm temperature - something that was _definitely_ not associated with dead people.

"You're sick," Kat muttered to herself, trying to figure out what exactly do to. She paused from her musings when something occurred to her. "Wait, how do ghosts get sick?"

"Our bodies are..." Stretch swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the vile taste in his mouth. "...vulnerable too, ya know..." Almost as if on cue with his words, he let out a hacking cough that finished with a shuddering breath.

Kat stood back, crossing her arms over her chest as she studied him. "When did this happen?"

"...O-overnight..."

"After you guys went out?"

"...Yup..." His voice was frail and weak, a pitch Kat would have never associated with someone like him.

"Do you know... what you have?"

"What do I look like, some sorta expert on disease?" The fact his tone lacked its usual bite worried her more than it should have. "But I think it might be, ah... tu-boo-culosis."

Kat jerked her hand away immediately, half-expecting to break it out into a rash. "Is it contagious?"

Stretch let out a little laugh, which wound morphing into a cough on its way out. "Not to fleshies," he replied. The act of speaking sounded as if it were exhausting him.

"What about your brothers? Or Casper?"

A pause. "I... think they better get outta the house as soon as possible. 'Specially Short-Sheet." If Kat didn't know any better, she might have said he was _embarrassed_.

"Do you want me to tell them now?" Whether he agreed to it or not, Kat knew she would inform the others immediately.

"Yeah..." Stretch replied wearily, giving a small nod and shutting his eyes as another deep cough escaped him. "A-and get Doc up here too.."

Kat nodded in return, quickly leaving the room. She wasn't exactly sure what to think about the sense of pity she felt for the ghost.

_Getting sick really does blow._

* * *

Kat watched as her father closed the Trio's bedroom door behind him. James let out a heavy sigh, adjusting his glasses.

"Dad?" The crease in his brow was far from reassuring. "What's wrong?" She scolded herself immediately for being so concerned. After all, Stretch was already dead. What was the worst thing that could happen to him now? And further more, why should she care?

"It's tu-boo-culosis alright," James confirmed, speaking in hushed tones. Kat figured Stretch was either sleeping or this was something he wasn't supposed to hear. Judging by the fact they were having this conversation right outside his door, she leaned towards the former. "Casper lent me a book on ghostly illnesses and Stretch has every symptom."

"Like what? Throwing up? A fever?"

James nodded grimly. "Not to mention a nasty cough, body aches, runny nose and chills."

"Ouch." Kat winced. "So it's like a ghost-version of the flu, right?"

James smiled grimly. "I suppose that's one way of putting it, yes."

"So... Stretch will be okay?"

"In about three to five days. Don't you worry."

Oh, God. He noticed she was worried? Kat decided to stress over that later and focus on the task at hand. "Then why do you look like something's bothering you?"

James sighed heavily. "I can't stay here to watch over him," he confessed. "I got a call over from the next town, and..."

"...You have to work," Kat finished for him, heart sinking. "What are we supposed to do? We can't just leave him like this."

"And the others can't exactly take care of him..." James was referring to the other three ghosts, who'd taken the warning seriously and left the house, most likely for a few days. "It's just you."

Kat could barely suppress her disdain. "What, you want _me_ to take care of him?"

"If you could, that would mean a lot." James nearly hesitated over the next part. "Especially to him. He does need someone now, and since I can't be there - "

"I need to be." Kat rubbed her forehead. "I mean, I guess it'll be easier to deal with him since he's too sick to argue, and he's not contagious so I won't catch anything."

"Exactly." James smiled at her kindly. "It would mean a lot."

Kat glanced at the door, contemplating. Only when she heard Stretch let out another pitiful cough did she give in. "Okay, okay." She raised her eyebrows. "But if he pukes on me on purpose..."

Her father laughed. Somewhat nervously, Kat noted. "Let's both hope it doesn't come down to that," he said. Then James' face turned serious. "Now. Before I pack up and leave, there's a few things you should know."

Kat resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _Here we go. Dr. Dad to the rescue..._

"Number one: make sure Stretch stays in his room. The last thing we need is this house getting contaminated. Number two - " With each point he made, James held up a finger. " - if he does give you trouble, remind him that it's doctor's orders."

"Like that'll help," Kat muttered, but she made a mental note of it.

"Number three: give him lots to drink. I can't stress that enough. The more he drinks, the sooner the virus will leave his body. Don't give him Nurofen or Panadol unless he really needs it and let him sleep all he wants. Make sure he's got that blanket on him."

"What about soup?" Kat asked. Her mother used to make it for her all the time when she was sick.

"Great idea, honey. Pumpkin is his favourite."

Kat decided it was best not to ask how her father had made such a discovery.

"It'll be handy to have some tissues ready," James added. "I think we have vaporub somewhere around here, too."

"Which I will not be rubbing on him..."

James chuckled at that. "You don't have to. Oh! And a bucket too, seeing as how he might not make it to a toilet in time to vomit."

Kat remembered hearing the sound of vomit hitting the floor earlier in the day, trying not to cringe. "I can do that too. Get him a bucket and place it on the floor next to his bed."

"And try to take his temperature if his fever seems to be getting worse."

Kat nodded. "Got it."

Noticing his daughter's apprehension, James tried to reassure her. "He's weak right now, honey. And by weak, I mean very weak. He won't cause any trouble because he has no strength to cause any trouble. I think getting on your nerves is the last thing on his mind, what with all that pain he's going through at the moment."

There was that weird pang of sympathy again; one Kat would have felt for any sick person, she told herself.

"Does he know that I'm the one staying here with him?" For some reason saying the words 'taking care' when Stretch was involved didn't sit well with her.

James looked sheepish. "I may have mentioned that already," he confessed. "I don't even know if he heard me. He wouldn't take his head out from under the pillow." He clasped his hand together. "Anything else you need before I head out?"

Kat leaned over to give him a hug. "Just some good luck," she replied, forcing a laugh. "I'm gonna need it."

Wrapping his arm around his daughter's small shoulders, James couldn't help smiling. "I have faith in the both of you," he promised as he pulled away. "But if it's any reassurance, I'll phone you the minute I get into my motel room. Okay?"

Kat took a deep breath, staring at the Trio's bedroom door with hesitation. "That'll help."

With his bags all packed and ready to go, and a goodbye exchanged between the father and daughter, James headed out. Kat stood on the front porch, leaning against the door frame as she watched her father's car drive away.

_At least... I **hope** it will._


	2. Examination

_**See You in Health**_

_**By Berry's Ambitions and GhostlyMayhem**_

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who gave this story a chance! Means a lot to Elena and I! :) ****But before we begin, I'd like to address some of the things brought up by a reviewer: n****ope, Stretch and Dr. Harvey are just good friends in this story. No more, no less. _See You in Health_, as of right now, has no connection to any of my other _Casper_ fics whatsoever. And it's funny you mention Trio history... ;)**

**I also felt the need to mention that Kat is 17 years old by the time this fanfic takes place, and that the age of consent in Maine is 16. So don't worry - there won't be any underage squick happening in this story! That's not something I'd want to write anyway, believe me...**

**Anyway, thanks for reading! :D**

**DISCLAIMER: We do not own _Casper_****_._**

* * *

_**Chapter 2: Examination**_

* * *

Kat gave a gentle rap on Stretch's door. "Hey," she called, "you awake in there?"

_"Umgh..."_

_I'll take that as a yes,_ Kat decided, pushing the door open. Stretch was curled up in his bed, gritting his teeth and shivering. His violet eyes, normally sharp, were glazed over with skepticism and discomfort.

"Hey," Kat said, shutting the door behind her in hope of keeping the germs from spreading. In her left hand she clutched both a bucket and a thermometer. "How are you feeling?"

Stretch closed his eyes, giving a raspy sigh.

"Can you talk?"

He shook his head, turning away from her as she stepped closer.

"Are you going to... throw up again?"

Stretch shook his head weakly.

"Are you hungry?"

Stretch didn't answer. He closed his eyes, taking deep, shaky breaths that noticably cracked each time he inhaled.

_Sore throat,_ Kat observed, with another pang of sympathy that she quickly shook off. "I can make you some soup if you want," she offered. "Dad said you like pumpkin, and I think we have some downstairs."

Stretch opened one eye. Had he not been in such a haggard state, she might have laughed.

"I'm gonna take your temperature, alright?" Kat set the bucket by the ghost's bedside, relieved that her father had been generous enough to clean the mess from earlier. "Can you sit up?"

He grimaced and began to do so - slowly, painfully, with effort. Kat rested a hand on his back to support him, feeling the unnatural heat from his body leaking into her palm.

Stretch didn't sit up straight, instead slumping forward slightly and breathing heavily. He clutched his stomach suddenly, his breath quickening.

Instinctively, Kat took a step back. "Are you going to...?"

"I-I can..." Stretch gulped, making sure the bile forming didn't come up his throat, "...hold it... in..."

Just to play it safe, Kat handed him the bucket. "That's just in case you do. Just... keep it together while I take your temperature, if you can. Okay?"

Instead of a snarky remark along the lines of his usual _"Don't tell me what to do, fleshie," _Stretch just gave a weary nod.

"Okay." Kat took a deep breath, taking a seat on the bed next to him. _I'll have to wash my hands after this. One sick ghost is bad enough without accidentally spreading it to all of them..._

"Do you know what a ghost's normal temperature is?" she felt obligated to ask, taking the digital thermometer out of its holder.

"I dunno..." Even the sound of his voice made her want to cringe. Stretch sounded like a congested bullfrog. _I'll have to remember those tissues. _"Cold?"

"Guess it doesn't matter right now," Kat supposed, putting the tip of the thermometer into a new throw-away plastic cover. "I'll ask my dad later. Alright, open up and_ please_ try not to be sick."

Stretch complied; she put the covered tip under his tongue and he gently closed his lips around it.

"Now we just gotta wait 'til it beeps," Kat explained. "Then we'll know." Kat looked him for a long moment, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. "God, you look like hell," the brunette sighed, resting the back of her free hand against his burning forehead. "Where could you have picked this up?" she wondered, more so to herself than to Stretch. "How come you're the only one who caught it?"

"Bad luck," was his immediate answer.

_Guess he doesn't know..._ Kat thought with a sigh. "Maybe at the bar last night?"

Stretch just nodded, his stomach rumbling painfully again. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep bile from coming up his throat.

"Bucket's right there," she reminded him - rather kindly, much to his shock. Then again, sick people always invoked sympathy in others.

"I... know," he said quietly, praying to whatever deity that existed that he wouldn't vomit.

Kat wracked her brain for some way to help him. "After I'm done taking your temperature, how 'bout some ginger ale?" she offered. "I mean, I'd have to leave it out for a while so it's flat, but..."

"Ginger ale don't sound half bad," he managed to get out, grimacing and clutching his forehead.

Much to their relief, the thermometer beeped. Kat removed it from Stretch's mouth and read the numbers in the little 'window'. "102.8. That's a moderate fever." She filed it away in her mind, certain her father would ask about it when he phoned.

"You might wanna..." When Kat looked at him again, she recognized wooziness immediately. "...step back a bit there, Kitty-Kat."

No sooner did the words leave his mouth when he promptly threw up again, almost missing the bucket entirely. Recalling what her mother often did to her when she was physically sick, Kat leaned over to rub his back. She wasn't sure if she was actually doing Stretch any good, but she figured anything was better than freaking out and showing disgust.

And judging by the fact he wasn't flinching away from her touch, Kat figured that he didn't mind._ I guess even ghosts need comfort when they're sick..._

There were a few more cringe-worthy hacks into the bucket before Stretch slowly lifted his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand (much to Kat's revulsion). He seemed even weaker than before.

"Umm..." Somewhat distracted by her pity, Kat had forgotten what she said she'd do next.

"Ginger ale," Stretch reminded her, moaning as he laid back down on his mattress.

"Yeah, right." Kat gingerly took the bucket and placed it by the bedside, making sure not to look inside of it. The last thing either of them needed was Kat doing _Exorcist_ impressions of her own.

With a weary sigh, she ejected the used throwaway cover on the thermometer, placing it back in its holder before turning to look at her 'patient'. Never in her life did Kat think she'd _ever_ feel even a semblance of sympathy for Stretch, yet here she was.

_What he needs right now is someone here for him,_ Kat thought, remembering her father's words from earlier. _And since his brothers can't do it, and Dad can't do it... then it's up to me._

"Stretch?" she voiced, speaking as gently as she could. "Are there any... books you like?" He didn't budge, but she went on, "While I'm downstairs, I can look for something that you like." _Other than making life miserable for us 'fleshies'._ "I can put on some music, if you want. Or get you a magazine, or a newspaper... Or I could make you some of that pumpkin soup, if you don't feel too sick to drink it."

Stretch stared up at her for a while. "Why ya bein' so... nice?" His voice was still frail, and Kat had to lean more closely just to hear him. At his words, she blinked in surprise. She already knew what her reasons were, and it felt odd to actually verbalize them.

"Well... everyone needs someone there when they're sick," Kat explained softly. "Even you. And since your brothers can't help or my dad... I'm just doing the right thing, I guess."

Stretch watched her for a few moments longer before his eyelids fluttered shut. "Just some ginger ale would be nice," he replied, breath raspy as he turned on his side to get comfortable in spite of the body aches that accompanied tu-boo-culosis.

"That's it? Are you sure?"

He nodded - again, with effort.

"Okay," Kat complied, still keeping her voice level for his sake. It was bizarre, having a civil conversation with Stretch for a change. She hadn't even thought such a thing to be possible. "Just... call me if you need me, alright?"

"Mm-hm." Stretch then, out of nowhere, let out the most unpleasant noise that was half snort, half gurgle. Kat winced.

"While I'm at it, I'll bring you a whole box of Kleenex."

She turned to leave, but Stretch stopped her.

"Actually..."

Kat turned back around to face him. "Yes?"

"Can ya... go up to the attic and find me..." Stretch paused to clear his throat. "A picture? There's only... one box of pictures that has my name on it. It should be in there."

Kat was confused by this. "Why do you want me to get you a_ picture?"_

Stretch sighed, eyes remaining closed. "That picture might... help me."

"What's exactly in the picture I'm looking for?"

"A... cat..."

Many things Stretch said left the Harveys baffled, but this took the cake. "A _cat," _she repeated, making sure she'd heard him correctly. "With ears and a tail."

He didn't respond.

"Okay then," Kat surrendered, glad he wasn't looking at her in that moment. She was certain that her facial expression gave away how weirded out she really felt. "Just... remember what I said about calling me if you need something."

She closed the door behind her, suddenly overcome by exhaustion, and wondered if this was Stretch's tu-boo-culosis talking or just... _Stretch._

Kat couldn't decide which was worse.

* * *

She prepared the ginger ale first, opening five cans and leaving them out to go flat on the kitchen table. Couldn't forget her father's guideline about liquids, after all. While she was at it, Kat grabbed a towel from one of the linen closets to put down on Stretch's mattress, afraid the ginger ale would (literally) pass right through him.

Kat went to the attic last, a good portion of her wanting to know if there was a cat picture lying around in the first place. It felt strange, going through Stretch's things. _Wrong,_ almost.

_He must be** really** sick if he actually trusts me to do this._

Through cobwebs and dirt was she eventually able to find a pile of boxes with the words _'Stretchz crap'_ scrawled in permanent marker. Wiping them off was enough to make _her_ sneeze, but Kat battled through it. The sooner she got to the bottom of this, the better. She opened the lid, and was welcomed with more items covered in dust. Luckily for her, she didn't have to look long.

She discovered two framed, black-and-white pictures that did indeed feature the aforementioned feline - a light-coloured tabby, to be precise. One displayed the cat by itself, sitting on its hind-legs and gazing intently into the camera. In the other, the cat was splayed over the shoulders of a man Kat had never seen before. Tall, with a slim, agile build. Dark, messy hair. Large, expressive eyes of unknown colour. In his late twenties, if she had to take a guess.

_These look old,_ she observed, taking notice of the man's attire right away. _Late 1800s, maybe?_

Almost involuntarily, Kat found herself gazing at the man again. For a guy who lived so long ago, he was kind of good-looking. Handsome, even, despite the obvious imperfections - like the size of his nose.

Kat froze on the spot, putting two and two together.

_Oh God, is that **Stretch?**_

_And did I just think he was... sort of... **hot?**_

Mortified, Kat snatched up the two pictures and slammed the lid back onto the box, feeling heat flood her face. _The dust must be affecting my brain,_ she concluded immediately, trying to pretend that didn't just happen.

In spite of this, she lifted up the photograph of the supposed-human Stretch towards her face, taking notice of the words scribbled into the bottom right-hand corner for the first time.

_'Jack and Scruff, 1901.'_

Kat raised her eyebrows. _His name was Jack? Huh... never would have thought._

_I never would've thought he looked like **that,** either._

Shaking her head, Kat rose to her feet and stalked out of the attic, not even pausing to look back.


	3. Catharsis

_**See You in Health**_

_**By Berry's Ambitions and GhostlyMayhem**_

**A/N: Finally the next installment has arrived! My apologies for the long wait; I've been really busy preparing for college, so I'm not sure how frequently updates will arrive after this _because_ of college. I'll certainly try my best to get this thing done, though! The majority of it has been pre-written already, and it's all a matter of editing to make sure everything flows together.**

**Without further ado, chapter three! ;)**

**DISCLAIMER: We do not own _Casper_****_._**

* * *

_**Chapter 3: C******__atharsis_

* * *

Stretch didn't move when Kat re-entered his bedroom. In her arms were the towel, tissue box, the framed photographs and a can of flat ginger ale.

"Hey," she greeted, setting the items on his bedside table. "I got the stuff."

Stretch nodded simply. It wasn't much of a thanks, but she hadn't expected one. If anything, it was the most thanks she had ever received from him.

The phantom pulled himself into a sitting position more, propping himself up against his pillow. Kat handed him the can of ginger ale, then gently placed the cat photos on his lap.

"This is what you wanted, right?" Kat asked. She didn't need to, though. The faraway expression on Stretch's face spoke for itself. With a trembling hand, he took hold of the photograph of his former self and the feline.

"He was cute," Kat said quietly. When Stretch gave her a strange look, she abruptly cleared her throat. "I mean the cat."

He smiled faintly, stifling a cough. "She."

"Excuse me?"

"She. Scruff was a girl."

Kat watched him closely. "I wouldn't have taken you for a cat lover," she remarked.

Stretch shrugged, not taking his eyes of the photo. "What can I say? Them fuzz-balls are cute." His eyes, normally so hard and uncaring, actually softened a bit as he spoke his next words. "Especially her."

Kat continued studying him, trying to figure out if he was being genuine for a change or pulling some sort of bizarre trick on her. For once, she couldn't tell.

"She was a fierce little thing," Stretch reflected with a soft chuckle. "But with me she was a sweet girl. Always followed me wherever I went... sometimes listened to me... And she was always there _with_ me. She was like my baby, since I never had any kids of my own."

Unable to help herself, Kat sat down at the foot of his bed. She had never seen Stretch speak of anyone so affectionately before, let alone an animal. "What happened to Scruff?" Kat inquired, although they were both aware that she already knew.

Stretch's smile faded entirely. "What the hell do you think?" He snatched a tissue, violently blowing his nose. Kat tried not to cringe at the sound. "She died, just like everyone else."

There came that annoying sympathy pang again, this one disturbingly stronger than the rest. By the minute, Stretch was appearing less like an annoying presence in her life and more like an actual person. "Old age?"

"I wish." Stretch crumpled up the tissue and tossed it across the room. "Fuckin' car got her. I'd been dead eight years when it happened."

"How do you know it was a car that got her?"

"Because I saw it happen, alright?" he snapped loudly, his voice cracking slightly whether due to his illness or because of actual emotions starting to break through. "I saw it happen for myself."

* * *

**Thursday, September 13th, 1917**

"You're getting old, girl..." Stretch ran his cold fingers through orange fur. Scruff just stared up at him as they stood near the door. "I wish I could we could walk 'round town like we used to."

Scruff meowed loudly.

"I know, I know. I hate it too." He sighed, holding her close to his chest. "But you can leave. Ya know that, right?"

Scruff blinked those moony yellow eyes of hers. It was during moments like this that Stretch swore his cat understood exactly what he was saying to her.

"You can leave whenever you want, and you stay here with me," Stretch continued. "Don't you know how lucky ya are? To choose when you come and go?"

Scruff merely rubbed her face against his chest, purring lightly, and he smiled. "Hopefully it'll go away soon, but I doubt that'll happen while you're still here." He studied his cat for a moment. "I know you'll go peacefully, and that's all I can really ask for. And I'll be there with ya when you do go," Stretch reminded her. "I won't let you die alone. You know that."

He set her down on the ground. Rather than sprinting off as expected, Scruff continued to peer up at him, swishing her tail. "I know you don't want to leave me, but I'll be fine. I'll be here when ya come back. Okay?"

Scruff blinked at him.

He chuckled, lightly scooting her forward out the door. "I don't want ya to be stuck in this place like I am. Cats ain't meant to be in the house all day." He titled his head. "'Sides, you always used to leave without no problems. How come you don't wanna go now?"

He should have known then that there'd been a sign that something bad would happen that night. Scruff finally did leave for the evening, at the same time she always did. And she came back at the same time later on, like always.

Of course, that was until Stretch heard the sound of screeching tires and continuous honking near by.

* * *

**Sunday, June 27th, 1999**

"So then...?"

"I went to the window." Stretch spoke clinically, as if the incident had happened to a stranger rather than himself. "Fatso and Stinkie were already there. Saw the whole thing."

A heavy silence fell over the room, with Stretch continuing to gaze at the photograph with an unreadable expression, Kat shifting the position of her body in a vain attempt to get more comfortable.

"She looked so little, out there in the road," Stretch recalled, voice echoing desolately around the bedroom. "I wish I could say she looked asleep, but nope." He smiled bitterly. "She just looked dead."

Kat found herself studying the picture frame as well, looking at the cat's tousled fur. Her large, curious eyes. _They really did make the perfect pair_, she thought, taking in the way Stretch's hair stuck up in every direction in the black-and-white photo. Who would've thought a camera could've captured the mischievous gleam in his eyes so perfectly, even back then?

"I know you'd probably think I'm bullshitting you when I say I know how you feel," she said at last. Stretch didn't look up. "But I do. To lose someone like that, so violently and out of the blue."

_Amelia._ Stretch picked up the other picture; the one of Scruff by herself. "I lost a lot of people in my life. Just one after another. With Scruff, I thought that maybe... maybe she'd be spared from a death like mine."

"But that didn't happen," Kat said quietly.

It was if Stretch hadn't heard her speak at all. "I shoulda known somethin' bad would happen..." he stated hollowly. "She knew. But I made her go anyway._ I_ made her go."

"It isn't as if you killed her," Kat pointed out gently. "Do you know who the driver was?"

"No idea," he responded flatly. "They didn't even stop, ya know that? Bastard just... kept on drivin'."

Kat felt disgusted, but far from surprised. "Well, I wish I could tell you that times have changed."

Stretch barked a hateful laugh, which ultimately transformed into a coughing fit. Kat watched him, wide-eyed, until he finally managed to steady himself.

"You kiddin'?" Stretch sneered. He crushed the ginger ale can in his fist, letting it leak out all over the floorboards. "You fleshies'll never change! There's a reason I hate 'em - 'cause yous never..." His ranting was cut off by a groan of pain, a severe headache coming on. Stretch dropped the can, cursing and burying his face into his hands.

He kept himself hidden there for a while. For a moment Kat thought she saw his shoulders shake with some powerful force. It was unnerving, as if she were witnessing something she shouldn't be.

"You... really miss her, huh?"

"'Course I do..." His voice was muffled. "She was like my kid. She stayed with me through thick and thin." He felt like throwing something, or hitting something, but felt so weak and utterly miserable that he continued to speak instead. "She wasn't supposed to die like that. I wanted to be there with her when she died, and that didn't happen."

His words hit far too close to home than Kat liked. "So you know how my dad and I felt, then," she said softly.

Stretch looked up, still resting his chin in his palms. His eyes were narrowed.

"What you described going through with losing Scruff..." Kat rubbed her bare arms, suddenly finding the room cold. "That's exactly how I felt, too. When I lost Mom. And it sucked."

Stretch heaved a raspy sigh. "Ain't that the truth," he replied. "That feeling... it hurts less, over the years..."

"But it never goes away," Kat finished for him. She knew that all too well. "For what it's worth..." She rested a tentative hand on his shoulder, half-expecting the ghost to jerk away. He didn't. "I'm sorry these memories were brought up. If I'd known, I would've left those pictures in the attic where they belong."

"No," Stretch said, removing his face from his hands. Kat could have sworn she saw him wipe at his eyes. "I wanted to see 'em. Thought they might help."

Kat tried to pretend she hadn't seen what she thought she'd seen. "Help in what way?"

Stretch crossed his arms, not looking at her directly. "Scruff used to sleep next to me every night. And during those few times I got sick as human, she'd just stay curled up next to me while I was in bed."

"Do you have any... funny memories of Scruff?" Kat asked, trying to brighten his mood. Stretch was annoying ninety-nine percent of the time, but that seeing him depressed wasn't much better. "Talking about the good times help make the pain go away a bit. Animals can be crazy, so I'm sure you have a lot of fun with her."

He smiled faintly. "You don't know the half of it, kid."

Kat didn't realize how long her hand had been lingering on his shoulder; embarrased and relieved Stretch hadn't noticed, she pulled it away. "Why don't you tell me some stories, then?" she encouraged, crossing her legs.

"About Scruff?"

She nodded.

"Well..." Stretch leaned back against his pillow. "There was one this time I was in the kitchen, and I saw Scruff lookin' at somethin'. Turns out it was this frog - a real big one, warts and everything. I wanted to get rid of the damn thing, but J.T. - y'know, Short-Sheet's dad - he woulda given me hell if I touched it. And you know what happened?"

"What?"

"Turned out Scruff had brought it in herself! Musta thought it belonged to her, 'cause she took upstairs with the toad in her mouth. Took me almost an hour to chase her down!"

Kat burst out laughing. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious! She was one crazy girl."

"Most of us are," Kat joked. She leaned forward slightly with intrigue. "Tell me more about her. Did Scruff have any cute little habits?"

Stretch rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well... she did this thing where she threw herself at my feet and started rollin' around," he recalled, chuckling.

"Did you have catnip in your shoes or something?" Kat grinned. A part of her still marvelled over that fact that she and Stretch were having such a relaxed, civilized conversation, and about something personal to him no less.

"Catnip?" Stretch echoed. "What's that?"

"It's like weed for cats." At his puzzled expression, Kat sighed. "You know... marijuana? Pot? Dope?"

"I grew up in the late 1800s," Stretch pointed out. "All we had was alcohol and tobacco." He shook his head. "Man, I wish I coulda given her some. That woulda been a hoot to watch, but she was already crazy enough as it was. Always jumpin' around and runnin' around the house."

"Did you mind her sharp nails when you were a human?"

"It never bothered me, actually," Stretch answered honestly. "I'd always let her climb all over me, and her claws never really hurt. Besides, she didn't mean no harm."

"And she slept next to you every night?"

"Every night," he confirmed. "Even after I died."

Remembering the spill from earlier, Kat snatched a towel from the beside table and began mopping up the ginger ale. "So she recognized you?"

"You bet. And I recognized her, too." Stretch scratched his head. "I mean... I didn't remember everything right away. I just knew she was mine. The other stuff sorta came back on its own."

Kat held the sopping wet towel in her hands, pondering. She wasn't sure if she'd ever get an opportunity like this again - to talk to Stretch about his former life. A part of her wondered if he even remembered who exactly he was talking to in the first place. _Did he mention any of this to Dad? Should I tell any of this stuff to Dad when he gets back?_

Somehow, that idea didn't sit well with her. If Stretch wanted to talk to her father about Scruff, he would have done so himself. It was his business, not hers, although Kat suspected Stretch wouldn't have been quite as generous had their roles been reversed.

"Casper said to me once that ghosts start to forget things about being alive because they don't matter anymore," she remembered aloud. "That's why you never forgot about Scruff, right?"

"Never. She was too much of a happy memory to forget about, and that's the kinda stuff we ghosts tend to hold onto."

Kat smiled kindly. "She must have gave you a lot of comfort."

Stretch nodded, a faraway look in his eyes as he glanced back down at the pictures in his lap. "At night she'd lay her head on my chest, and when she woke me up..." He started laughing quietly - a wheezing laugh that surprisingly didn't turn into a cough just yet.

"What's so funny?"

"Five A.M.," Stretch explained, grinning as the images came back to him. "That was the time she'd wake me up every morning. Lickin', rubbin', snugglin', you name it."

"That's so cute!"

"That's what I thought at first, 'til it started getting in the way of my beauty sleep." But Stretch didn't sound the least bit annoyed. "So I put food out at night so she has it in the morning, put a fan on me, even locked her out. Which I hated to do, 'cause I loved her sleepin' with me, but that didn't help either. She just meowed and scratched at the door."

"So what did you do?"

"Whataya think? I got used to it, and I've woken up at five in the morning ever since. Even now. Drives Fatso and Stinkie bananas."

"Is that why you wanted me to bring the pictures of her?"

Suddenly Stretch didn't look so happy anymore. If anything, he looked more miserable than ever. This would have concerned her more had Stretch not been so moody on a regular basis; it was nothing new. "Yeah. I miss that."

Kat tried to find the right words and found none. It frustrated her, and she tried not to let it show on her face.

Stretch had gone back to staring at the two photos in his lap. "I think that was the day my view on fleshies completely went down the toilet. The day she died was the day I started to really hate you bone-bags..."

* * *

**Thursday, September 13th, 1917**

When Stretch entered the living room, Fatso and Stinkie hovering by the window. "What was was that?" he demanded, floating up behind them. "A car?"

Stinkie turned around quickly, throwing his hands up to try and block his brother from coming up to the window. "I wouldn't look outside if I were you..."

That annoyed him. "What the hell you talkin' about?" Stretch snapped, trying to peer over his brother's shoulder. Immediately Fatso got in the way, looking highly uncomfortable.

"Stinkie's right. I wouldn't look out there until tomorrow."

"Or never," Stinkie finished.

Stretch's nostrils flared. "Just what yous tryin' to pull here? Some kinda joke?" He forcefully attempted to pry them apart, but the younger ghosts refused to budge.

"Fine!" Stretch growled, levitating away from them. "I'll just ask Casper! Or better yet, I'll go upstairs - "

No sooner did the words leave his mouth when Stinkie flew in front of him. "It's bad, okay?" His tone was pleading. "Take my word for it! You're better off not knowin'!"

"Scruff shoulda come home an hour ago," Stretch snapped, heading up stairs already. "And since I can't leave, I'm gonna keep an eye out for her!"

Stinkie immediately flew in front of his eldest brother, blocking the way. "No, ya can't. Trust me - "

"Can ya just get outta my way?" Stretch seethed, temper starting boil over. "You wouldn't be tryin' to keep a secret from me, would ya?"

Stinkie's eyes dropped the ground. "Stretch..."

"Don't you 'Stretch' me! Tell me what happened!"

It took Stinkie a while before he was able to respond. "It's Scruff."

If Stretch still had blood, it would have ran cold. "What about her?" he asked, rather quietly.

Fatso and Stinkie exchanged glances; it was only then that Stretch noticed how upset they really were, which only unnerved him further.

"I _said,"_ he repeated through clenched teeth, "what... happened?"

"Stretch..." Fatso began, "you know how Scruff was gettin' old...?"

Now Stretch was beginning to feel dizzy, actually leaning a hand against the wall to support himself.

Stinkie was the one to break the heavy silence. "She was hit by a car," he explained, eyes still still glued to the floor. "She died on impact. I think somethin' hit her head, so she didn't feel any pain..."

Stretch stared at them blankly. "No..." he said stiffly, shaking his head. "You don't..."

"She's gone, Stretch," Stinkie repeated, sounding wearier than Stretch had heard him in ages. "I'm real sorry..."

But the condolences fell upon deaf eyes. Blinded by denial and panic, Stretch raced past his two brothers, heading over toward the living room window where he'd spotted them earlier.

What he saw... if he had a heart, it no doubt would have cracked in half. "No..." he whispered.

In the small, lone road in front of the front gates, he could just barely make out the small form of his cat lying in the middle of the road, looking so tiny... lying motionless. The only other color he could make out was the crimson blood surrounding her body.

Stretch immediately raced over to the front door, but not before Stinkie and Fatso came up and grabbed him.

"Stretch, you can't leave!" Stinkie reminded his brother frantically.

"I can damn well try!" Stretch snarled, only half-aware of their efforts to hold him back.

"You ain't thinkin' straight!" Fatso cried. "If you'd just calm down - "

_"Scruff is dead! I will not fucking calm down!"_

Fatso flinched away, but Stinkie continued to grip Stretch's wrist. "There's nothing you coulda done! Stretch, be - "

The strangest sound echoed across the room, akin to flesh hitting flesh - except not.

Clutching his cheek, Stinkie stumbled against the wall. Fatso rushed to his aid immediately, both ghosts gawking at their oldest brother as if he were a complete stranger, but Stretch paid no attention to their stares. Instead he took this opportunity to throw open the door, trying to force his way through the barrier that surrounded Whipstaff. Needless to say, his attempts were futile.

He rammed his shoulder into the invisible force, growing desperate. "No! It wasn't supposed to be like this..."

Seeing how much effort Stretch was putting into trying to break through, Fatso made his way over. Slowly, with great caution, he attempted to take hold of him. "Stretch..."

"I see her!" On the verge of a meltdown, Stretch continued to charge at the barrier. "She's right there! I-I can..."

"Stretch."

When he turned to glower at Fatso, the latter simply shook his head.

"B-But I..." The eldest McFadden slowly stopped his efforts, reality sinking in. He lowered himself to the floor, cradling his face in his hands.

Fatso made a move to place his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Stretch...?" he asked tentatively, half-expecting to be violently struck as Stinkie had been.

Slowly, Stretch raised his head and stared at him, as if he wasn't sure who Fatso was or what he was doing or how he got there. The lanky ghost had started violently shaking before a sob burst from his throat, forcefully pushed from his non-existent lungs and coloured with hysteria.

Fatso pulled the older phantom into his chest, gently rocking him back and forth and shushing him. Stinkie watched from the wall, as if paralyzed.

"Stretch," Fatso instructed, his normally jolly voice level, "you need to calm down."

But his words only rattled him further, made his cries more harsh as he buried his face into his brother's shoulder.

That was the day that Stretch McFadden broke, and even his beloved siblings couldn't put him back together again.


	4. Alleviation

_**See You in Health**_

_**By Berry's Ambitions and GhostlyMayhem**_

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, again! I've been really distracted with other things, but I'll see if I can start updating this story more frequently if possible. I'm not exactly sure how long it's going to be, but we still have quite a bit left to go.**

**DISCLAIMER: We do not own _Casper_****_._**

* * *

_**Chapter 4: Alleviation******__  
_

* * *

"Have you ever thought about getting a new cat?" Kat asked softly.

Stretch shook his head. "I never thought about it, really... I found Scruff by complete accident."

"As a kitten?"

Stretch gave a weak nod. "Some asshole put her in a trash bag. I found that bag lying on some road, and she was in there barely clingin' to life. Just this little orange ball, barely a few weeks old..." His eyes hardened. "Sometimes I wonder if the same fleshie that threw her out was the one driving the car that ended up killing her."

"I can't say I blame you." Kat decided to just drop the wet towel onto the floor. She'd deal with it later. "People do sick things sometimes."

He let out a contemptuous snort, adjusting his pillow. "You're tellin' me. You bone-bags make me wanna hurl."

Kat wanted to tell him that not all humans were like that; that she and her parents weren't like that. But she had seen Stretch's temper get the best of him one too many times, and the last thing she wanted to deal with right now was a tantrum.

"I was wrong about you," she said at last. Stretch looked up from his pictures, violet eyes searching. "You still... feel things."

Stretch curled his lip. "So what?" he challenged, reaching for a new can of ginger ale and popping it open. "If you're gonna start spouting that parapsychological crap that the Doc likes so much, then beat it."

Rather than giving into him the angry retort he'd been hoping for, Kat remained silent.

Stretch shook his head. "Look," he sighed, voice still frail from illness. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

Stretch's violet eyes appeared glazed over, and Kat wasn't sure if she was seeing things right or not. "I miss her... a lot..."

He sounded miserable as he looked, and Kat wracked her brain for a way to comfort him.

"I'll tell you what," she said at last, watching as he took a tentative sip of his drink and praying it didn't leak through. "When you get better, the two of us are gonna go to the animal shelter and look at some cats. I think it'll really help you."

Stretch didn't look so sure. "We wouldn't actually... get one, would we?"

"Not if you didn't want too." Kat smiled faintly. "I've always wanted a pet, you know."

"What stopped ya?"

She winced. "Dad's allergies. He so much as _looks_ at a furry thing and breaks out in hives."

Stretch couldn't help snickering at the revelation. "At least he ain't allergic to smell. Otherwise Stinkie woulda killed him by now."

Kat laughed. "Sometimes I wonder how we _all_ manage to survive that," she joked. "But seriously. This house is big, and there are a lot of animals who get abused, like dogs - "

"I'm against animal abuse," Stretch stated. "But I ain't gettin' a dog. I don't like dogs."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? I figured you would prefer them over cats."

"That's why you should never jump to conclusions," he shot back, taking a longer drink of his ginger ale. "I can't stand those things. All their barkin' and yappin' and pissin' all over the floor. 'Sides, I already got the boys."

Kat grinned, resting her chin atop of her knees. "I think they're cute. Especially pugs."

"Pugs? You mean them things with the squished-up faces?"

"I like them!" Kat said defensively. "Mom used to tell me they were proof that God has a sense of humor."

"Really? I always thought they were a new breed of rodent and that somebody slapped the dog label on 'em by accident."

"No, that would be chihuahuas," Kat replied, giggling. It was then she realized, with a little jolt, that Stretch was fun to talk to - and that she could appreciate his humor when it wasn't used to make others miserable.

"Stinkie and Fatso always preferred dogs," Stretch admitted, rolling his eyes. "Casper and his pa, too."

"Yeah, dogs can be a bit crazy."

"A _bit?"_

"It depends on the dog! Some of them are really well-behaved."

"Well, so was my Scruff. I mean, like I said earlier, she could be feisty, but most of the time she was really sweet." Stretch studied the photographs again, looking sullen. "You know... after I died, it got tougher to take care of her 'cause we couldn't leave this place. But she was smart, so she figured out how to hunt from herself. But I feel..." He bit the inside of his cheek. "I feel like..."

"You feel like what?"

"I feel like I was selfish. That if I just told her to scram, someone else woulda found her and given her the home she deserved. Maybe she woulda lived longer, too."

Kat was still perplexed over Stretch's statement that he couldn't leave Whipstaff - perhaps some sort of ghostly rule? - but that didn't stop her from trying to offer assurance. "If Scruff is anything like you said she was," she said slowly, "then somehow I doubt she even _wanted_ to leave." When he looked doubtful, her tone turned sharp. "For God's sake, Stretch! If she recognized you after you died and continued to stay, that says a lot! How do you think she feels, watching you beat yourself up over something that's not even your fault?"

Stretch glared at her, curling his lip. "You don't get it!" he snapped.

"What don't I get? I get it perfectly!"

"No, you don't! When she started getting old, I told that I'd be right next for her when she died. I broke my promise to her, and breakin' promises don't sit well with me."

"There wasn't anything you could have done, Stretch."

"You don't know that," he muttered, turning away. Kat tried not to lose patience with him, reminding herself that he was still very sick.

"I do," she replied, touching his hand. Stretch tensed. "Do you want to know how my mom died? Did my dad ever tell you?" Kat didn't give him a chance to respond. "She worked as a bank clerk. There was a robbery. And she was shot."

His eyes went wide.

"I missed the bus home, so my dad had to come get me." She spoke coldly, as if the incident had happened to a different person altogether. Sometimes Kat liked to believe it did. "Mom was waiting for us when it happened."

"She was... shot?" Having actually known Amelia himself, Stretch was shocked and disgusted by what he'd just been told.

Kat nodded, averting his gaze. "What I'm trying to say is... I know what's it's like to lose someone so violently and out of nowhere. But I keep telling myself that she went to Heaven immediately, with no unfinished business." She smiled sadly. "You loved Scruff so much that she was able to move on instead of staying behind. I think that's what happened to Mom, too."

Stretch was quiet, turning the can around in his hands. "Doc told me that once," he remarked finally, "but I didn't know what to think. But now, hearin' it from Amelia's girl herself..." Their eyes locked. "I think I do."

His stare was so intense - almost intimately so - that Kat felt heat rise from her spine to the back of her neck. _This is Stretch you're talking too,_ she reminded herself. _The guy who's made your life a living nightmare since day one. Don't be stupid._

But then again, Stretch had never looked at her like _that_ before...

Wanting to break the awkward silence, she voiced a question that had been bothering her for the past little while. "You act like you knew her personally."

"Who? Amelia?"

Kat nodded.

Stretch rubbed the back of his neck. "Eh... it's kind of a long story."

"Explain," she said shortly, making it clear that there was no weaselling his way out of this one.

Well, he figured there was no harm in telling her anyway. Not now. "It's like I said earlier. After wes died, we all got stuck here in the house. Don't ask me why, 'cause I don't know." The last part was a lie, but she didn't catch on.

"And?"

"It was like there this invisible barrier around the house," Stretch continued. "Kept us from leavin', no matter how hard we tried."

Kat frowned. "But what does that have to do with Mom?"

"I'm gettin' to it!" Stretch snapped. "Sheesh, you fleshies are so impatient! As I was _sayin'_, Amelia showed up sometime in the early eighties. Can't remember the exact year. Took shelter in the house 'cause it was rainin' and her car broke down."

She quirked an eyebrow. Now _this_ was a turn of events she didn't expect. "And you guys didn't drive her away?" she asked, finding this part of the story to be difficult to swallow.

Stretch waved a hand. "Oh, we tried everything in the book, believe me. But the dame was tough, and I think she mighta felt sorry for us." He scowled at the memory. If there was one thing Stretch couldn't stand, it was being pitied._ Especially_ by the living.

"How... how old was she?" Kat was still trying to wrap her head around it. Still processing this new piece of information about her mother. "Why didn't you tell me or my dad until now?"

Stretch shrugged. "'Cause we didn't feel like it," he said, matter-of-fact. Then his expression turned thoughtful. "She was your age, actually. Looked just like ya."

"Trust me, I've seen the pictures." She leaned in more closely "How exactly did she help you?"

"It's complicated."

"How so?"

"Amelia knew things about our situation that we didn't."

His vagueness was starting to get on Kat's nerves. "Like what?" she questioned pointedly.

"She knew how to _help_ us," Stretch replied, as if that explained everything. "But she wasn't the first one to try." He hesitated for a moment. "Don't tell Fatso I told ya this, but... he had a girl once."

Kat was momentarily taken aback. "A girl? He was dating someone?"

"Not just dating. He was well on his way to gettin' married."

A disbelieving laugh escaped her lips. "Fatso? Engaged? Yeah, right."

"You better believe it," Stretch answered, annoyed by her scornful attitude towards his brother. "He was crazy about the gal. Penny, her name was."

Kat tried to picture Fatso - _Fatso_ - in a romantic light. She couldn't, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. It was beyond weird. "What happened to her? What does she have anything to do with Mom?"

"Penny found out what happened to us... how we died. I'll get into that later. She visited us for about a week, tryin' to think up a way to set us free, then she just... stopped showin' up altogether." Stretch sighed, rolling his shoulders. "I knew she wouldn't abandon us. Not Penny. But after about a month, Stinkie and I assumed the worst."

Kat's heart sank. "And Fatso?"

Stretch's eyes were sad. "For years he was convinced she'd come back for him, no matter what me an' Stinkie told him. The first thing Fatso did when he got outta here was search for her. Was convinced Penny still had unfinished business."

Kat had a bad feeling about where this story was going.

"There was no trace of her, so Stinkie and I did some snoopin'. Turns out she went missin' a while after she stopped visiting us. Cops found her at the bottom of a lake twenty years later... well, what was left of her."

Kat covered her mouth with a hand, eyes larger than usual with the horror she felt. "Oh my God..."

Stretch nodded sadly. "She was a nice girl. She woulda been the only other girl in our family besides Casper's ma and Scruff. But they're all dead now, so that obviously didn't work out."

"Do they know who killed her?"

Stretch shook his head. "The cops don't know, but we had an idea." He didn't want to elaborate further. "Even worse... Stinkie and I found out something, and we haven't told Fatso. Somethin' they found with Penelope's body."

Kat couldn't even begin to imagine where this story was going next. "Which was...?"

"The cops... they, uh... they found the remains of a fetus." Stretch lowered his eyes, his expression darkening. "A few months old."

Bile rose to the back of Kat's throat, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to prevent the tears from spilling over. _Breathe in, breathe out. In and out._

Stretch waited patiently for the girl to regain her composure, setting the ginger ale can back down on his bedside table and folding his hands over his lap. When Kat was finally able to look at him again, Stretch's features were more gentle than she'd ever thought them capable of.

"Who?" Kat managed to ask, her raspy voice sounding eerily similar to Stretch's illness-riddled one. "Who would do something like that?"

"A real sicko, that's who," he answered solemnly, eyes turning steely. "Look... I knew Penny's sister. That girl wasn't right in the head."

"H-her sister?" Kat stared blankly at him. She had been convinced that nothing could shock her anymore, but this proved how wrong she was. "You think that Penny's _sister_ murdered her? _Why?"_

"Like I said, her sister wasn't right in the head." Stretch shrugged. "I had a bit of a fling with that girl, on and off for a few months. I wasn't interested in anything long-term, and when she found that out, she flipped her shit. Started followin' me around everywhere even when I told her to stay away."

Kat's stomach turned to knots. "Did she ever threaten you?"

He let out a bitter laugh. "Did she threaten me? She threatened all of us, even Casper. He was just a little tyke at the time, too."

Kat forced herself to stand. Her legs were falling asleep from sitting in the same position for so long, and was beginning to feel a little light-headed from all these disturbing McFadden family secrets. _I'm so not gonna be able to sleep tonight..._

"Didn't you guys have restraining orders back then?" she wanted to know. "Why the hell didn't Penny send her to an institution?"

"Even if we did, it wouldn't have stopped her. As for Penny, crazy or not, the girl was still her sister, and she loved her." Stretch spat the next words out as if they were made of poison. "Too much, as far as I'm concerned. Marina was like a sick animal that Penny didn't have the heart to put down, even if it was the right thing to do."

"Then why the hell did you sleep with her?" Kat knew she was out of line for for asking such a thing since didn't know the whole story, but she couldn't help herself herself. This woman had been a psychopathic murderer, for God's sake! She'd heard of low standards, but surely Stretch couldn't have been_ that_ stupid.

Stretch smiled coldly. "What can I say? I was a pig back then, and I didn't know any better. Besides, when I told her I wanted out of it, she figured out a way to make me stay with her."

Kat's heart sank even more deeply than before, unsure what curveball could possibly be thrown at her next. "What did she do?"

Stretch clenched his hands into fists, glowering at the ground. "Remember how I said I never had any kids?"

She nodded, all but holding her breath.

"See, Marina... she - "

His words were cut off by the shrill sound of the telephone ringing, startling the both of them. Kat looked at Stretch uncertainly, but he just nodded towards the doorway. "That'll be the Doc." When Kat didn't budge, he grew more insistent. "I ain't going anywhere. If you don't pick up, he's gonna think I've got you bound and gagged in a closet."

A brief but very uncomfortable silence passed between them before Kat ran down the darkened hallway, into her bedroom. She hadn't even realized how late it was until now. How long had she and Stretch been talking?

And more importantly, what had he been ready to tell her?


End file.
